“Let me put these in water,” Andi calls from the kitchen, and I follow her.
“No prob. I made a reservation at a new place in Shadyside. Supposedly, it’s good. I heard at work from one of the women. I’m guessing she knows.”
“Great. I’d be happy if you cooked, but you do that all the time.”
“Not enough for you,” I say, and I mean it. If I could, I’d cook for Andi every day. That’s the thing about the blog I don’t like. I make all this food, and I don’t have anyone to share it with. In the beginning, some of my buddies from the department would come over to eat. But they made other lives, and I still have the blog.
“Aw, that’s sweet, but let’s go have some fun.” She smiles at me, and I think she means it. All my worries about her brushing me off fade away.
On the way down to the car, we’re holding hands and hear a loud knocking. Leona and Gabby are both in the window, waving.
“Those two, they want in on everything,” I joke.
“Sorry, they’re part of the package, especially Gabby.” Andi stops and looks at me, judging me as she should.
“I love them for it,” I say, thinking,Using the L-word was probably overkill. But when Andi kisses me on the lips right there in front of the window, I think,Maybe not.
We sit across from each other at the brunch place, Muddy Rivers, and talk endlessly. We share oysters, and as we’re having mimosas, I break the big news.
“I’m going to Disney over President’s Day, and I wish you could come. Maybe you would?” I’m taking a risk with asking, but obviously, I’m not risk averse.
Andi makes a strange face, like it’s a horrific idea, and I jump in before she can answer, trying to save myself.
“Shit, I know, it’s not time for that yet. I was thinking of Gabby. She’d love it. Here’s an idea ... If I do a great job, they might ask me back. Something to look forward to.”
Andi nods, her mind seemingly far off, probably not believing I suggested a future. Finally, she says, “It would be fun,” and smiles. Afterward, she seems a bit fixated on my travel arrangements, asking a bunch of questions on the logistics. I don’t know what to make of it, and chalk it up to nerves on her part.
“I’m not going until Friday, midday. I’m presenting on two social-media panels on Sunday and Monday, and then there’s a bunch of learning sessions through end of business Tuesday. Since I don’t have a family to drag around the parks, I think I’ll go to the main park on Saturday and that’s it.”
“Cool, I’m sure you’ll love it. One day, I’ll take Gabby,” she says to my mouthful of logistics, and then she lets it go.
I get the feeling she wants to move on from the conversation. I don’t know if it’s because she can’t pay for the trip herself, or if she secretly wishes she was coming with me. I don’t know.
Changing the subject, I tell her about Greg.
“I think it’s pretty cool,” she says. “Obviously, he’s extremely responsible student, going to school full-time, working as a TA, and helping with his nephew.” She asks where he’s in school, and of course, I have no idea.
“He’s a big improvement over Tim, my last hound-dog TA. Guy used it as a reason to sleep with the students. He was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen.”
“Hound dog.” She parrots me, laughing. “What are you, back in the 1950s?”
“Very funny. Should I say cocksman? Or manwhore?”
This has her really giggling. Small crinkles spread from her eyes, and it’s the kind of beauty a guy can get used to.
“Manwhore ... it’s so funny hearing you say that,” she whispers.
“Why? Because I’m a numbers guy?”
“Uh, no. And you’re not all numbers. You’re not too shabby in your apron, biceps bulging.”
“That doesn’t sound good at all, apron and biceps bulging.” I signal for another round of mimosas and mouththank youto the server.
“Not as terrible as manwhore out of your mouth. It’s tooSex and the City, or I don’t know.” She’s tearing up from laughter, and I want to keep it going.
“How about gigolo?”
“Oh. My. Moving on, changing subject, apron man ...”
